


De-Lyrium

by SBlackmane



Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Awkwardness, Bi-Curiosity, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Withdrawal, eventually there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: Driven mad by his cravings for Lyrium, Cullen searches out his fix, but finds Adaar instead.





	De-Lyrium

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The sequel to The Dragon, as promised.
> 
> It probably sucks, but I want to do some character building and tension building between these two. Since I have no real-life experience with stronger substances to use as inspiration for Cullen (thank the Maker) I kind of compared it to my experience with alcoholism. I'm fine if I'm not around it, but if it's anywhere near me, it's all I think about. Based on how it's portrayed in the game, I can see Cullen's addiction being similar. Hope this isn't terrible.
> 
> -SB

He lie awake at night, tossing and turning in his cot, sweating, pulse raging in his temples, heart hammering in his chest. A thin layer of moisture coated his brow, and every crevice of his body; under his arms, legs, soaking the sheets beneath him, and his clothes clung to him. It chaffed the skin, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. His body ached, and what felt like a knife driven into the back of his skull drove him insane for most of the night. His blood was like fire, and every slight movement felt like pins and needles under the skin.

The lingering Lyrium in his veins was drawn to the surface and searched for more, coveting, craving, ever since the mages arrived at Haven.

And with them, more Lyrium to replenish their mana so that they might seal the Breach.

All of Haven sang loudly, especially at night.

He never gave it much thought most days, as long as he stayed far enough away from it. After the initial sickness, his body purging over and over until there was nothing left to vomit but blood those first few weeks, well...he'd been doing fine. Out of sight, out of mind, and most of the time he never thought of it. He had plenty of other things to distract him from its song. But now, with so much magic, and so much Lyrium, it drove him mad. He could think of nothing else. Especially at night when there was no work to distract him.

Fear gripped him tightly, metaphorical fingers clenching his throat, cutting off his air.

There were so many mages let loose upon Haven, and not enough people to guard against their magic. Fiona did her best to help to keep them in line - often they flocked to her as their authority still, as she led them in the mage rebellion - but if they should fail, if some of them should prove untrustworthy...should any of them fall to temptation, be corrupted - which would be easier here; they were closer to the Breach and the demons that congregated on the other side, pressing on the thin Veil...

Maker, they'd be overrun by abominations. Fall prey to blood magic, to -

Cullen shot out of bed in a panic.

This was not the first time he'd done so, actually. Since the day Adaar returned from Redcliffe, rebel mages and Tevinter Altus in tow, Cullen had been in a frenzy, rubbing his neck and wringing his hands, pacing back and forth in his tent when no one could see him. He didn't panic in front of everyone. He knew that would make things worse; should his men see him restless -  _so weak and vulnerable_ \- the situation might escalate. More and more former Templars might also become paranoid of the mages, and in-fighting might ensue.

So in private, he panicked, tearing his hair out over all his worries, his body craving the Lyrium song wafting to his quarters from afar. If he took Lyrium he could protect them. He could combat their magic, safeguard the people of Haven. He could -

Sweat poured down his face as his mind reeled, simultaneously fighting the urge to bolt from his tent and seek the source of his ire, and talking himself out of it. He started muttering the thoughts aloud, needing the noise to drown the seductive music out, humming and singing, a lark in song, a lute just slightly out of tune. It used to be in tune when his blood sang along with Lyrium, but now that it was empty, and the fog had cleared in his mind, he noticed just how slightly uneven the notes. _Maker! Stop singing!_ he begged silently.

 _You were born for this,_ the song sang to him. _Made for this. This is your calling, Templar. The Maker chose you for this purpose. Fulfill it. Feel whole and complete. You're a broken, and empty, useless vessel, you need to be filled._

He exhaled raggedly, wiping his hand across his face soaked in sweat. His blood itched and burned, made his skin crawl, like a thousand tiny insects skittering over his body and he shuttered at the feeling.

 _I should be taking it_ , he thought _. I should be taking Lyrium, and defending Haven from these abominations!_

He bolted out of his tent, wearing nothing but his under-armor, metal plates, greaves and pauldrons, as well as his cloak, completely forgotten. The fresh hair helped to wake him up slightly, and clear some of the Lyrium fog, but instead of giving him clarity, all it did was make him crave that fog again. He wanted that warmth, that sweetness of song, that lull of Lyrium to calm him. He needed it. Desperately. It was right there, just over there, in the supply tent. Just a few quick steps, and he would have what he desired.

He marched quickly across the yard, boots crunching the hardened snow, the sound harsh and grating in his ears. In the stillness and quiet it was all he could hear, and sounded so loud. No doubt all of Haven could hear his steps, and the more he tried to be quiet, the more he fumbled, first bumping against the lining of the tent, then tripping over the taglines securing the lining, and finally barreling headfirst into someone he didn't even see rounding the corner. Apparently he wasn't the only one haunting the training yard so late at night.

He yelped in surprise, and instinctively reached for the sword anchored at his belt, only to find he'd left it in his tent, in the seconds it took to realize the big hulking creature he'd bumped into was Adaar.

"Maker's breath," he exhaled.

"Sorry," Adaar amended in the same moment.

Then silence, as both stared at the other.

His heart raced in his chest, thoughts turning first to 'mage, apostate, magic, Lyrium', but quickly they faded into 'big, muscular, towering dragon' and then finally to 'Herald'. "Are you alright?" Adaar asked, concern softening his features. Cullen's mind scrambled for purchase, and his mouth fumbled to speak. Instinct was telling him to defend himself against the apostate in his path, the thin, tenuous webs of Lyrium laced in his veins fighting to rise to the surface, but a few thoughts kept him at bay.

He had no reason to fear Adaar. It was irrational to fear him. He was not a Qunari enforcer, he was not a blood mage, and he was not a demon. Bloody Void, he didn't even have any Lyrium inside him. Cullen noticed that fact, that the music was nonexistent within Adaar; he was completely silent. He never took Lyrium like Circle mages. It put him at a disadvantage in the field, when on the rare occasion he was outnumbered and drained of mana, but rather than stain his body with Lyrium, he simply reverted to using his golden staff as a melee weapon instead.

Which was likely why it was entirely metallic, instead of wooden like most apprentice staves. It was stronger. Might have been easier to pick enemies apart with magic, and take Lyrium, but he didn't. The substance in Cullen's own blood receded, though a prickling sensation overwhelmed him. Adaar was standing right in front of him, broad chest exposed, and he stared down at him like a real dragon eyeing its prey. He could see Cullen was on the defensive, fists clenched, anticipating attack, and so therefore so was he.

Cullen forced himself to relax. "I'm fine," he assured, and Adaar finally relaxed a little, shifting his stance from imposing to its usual stature.

"You sure?" he questioned, furrowing his dark brow, and Cullen gave a jerk of a nod.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, glancing around, noticing the grounds were completely devoid of life. There were two night watchmen at the gate, and nestled up in the hills above Haven scouts patrolled, keeping watch on the valley, but all was silent and still otherwise, the occupants of Haven fast asleep in their beds.

"Couldn't sleep," Adaar shrugged.

"It...must be difficult for you," Cullen remarked.

Adaar glanced up at the Breach in the distance, then deep brown eyes made their way back to Cullen. "I see I'm not the only one." He gestured to the whole of Cullen standing before him, and the Commander sighed, then nodded.

"I'll sleep better when the Breach is closed."

He glanced up at it, and wondered if perhaps it were simply the demons on the other side, amplifying his already unstable thoughts, influencing him somehow, making him lust after Lyrium so wantonly. The fog cleared entirely just then and he realized how foolish he'd been acting. How fearful, and paranoid, for almost no reason at all. It was ridiculous to think Haven would be overrun by abominations. They'd taken every precaution to ensure the safety of Haven, and so far, none of the mages have acted strangely.

Maker, he'd been an idiot.

"I must apologize," he said to Adaar. "I'm...not myself this evening. So much has happened, we're left with more questions than answers, and now a flock of mages to govern."

"There's no reason to apologize," Adaar assured him, then started walking slowly, strolling down the lane, and absently Cullen followed. "I understand. I know you don't like the idea of these Circle mages running about." _Of which you're to blame for,_ Cullen thought. "Cassandra doesn't like it either, but if we start locking them up or watching their every move like they're a bunch of prisoners, they'll start _acting_ like prisoners. They'll riot. They just want freedom. They just want to be normal, like everyone else."

"I know that," Cullen told him. "But there were some advantages to being under the protection of Templars. There is nothing to stop them should they get out of hand. And being so close to the Breach, they are at greater risk of being possessed."

"I get it," Adaar nodded.

They continued walking, silent for a time, and that punchy feeling in Cullen's gut began to dissipate. He and Adaar had spoken much more often since Redcliffe, and the more they spoke, the more relaxed around the Herald Cullen became. It was a relief. They were finally starting to be friends, not just Commander of the Inquisition, and Herald of Andraste. As long as he ignored his illogical attraction to the giant, Cullen greatly enjoyed his company. He was smart, resourceful, and reasonable. Able to think objectively, and ignore bias.

Cullen liked that about him the most. That he considered all sides of an argument before making a decision. And he had a sense of humor. He took his role in the Inquisition seriously, no doubt about that, and he never made light of a serious matter, but still he had this carefree disposition most days, like nothing in life ever weighed him down. Cullen didn't know how he managed it, was often jealous of it, but it put him at ease. When Adaar made a joke, it was easier to cope with a situation. It broke the tension that wound them up.

He was like the Inquisition's keeper, of sorts. He was the person that listened to everyone's problems and had the solution. Rather than coming to others for advice, often it was _Adaar_ that gave advice. Of course he was curious, and of course he asked questions, asked about their lives, their pasts, their beliefs, their interests, but when a situation arose that couldn't be resolved, Adaar would cut through the tension in the air with that deep rumbling baritone and figure it out. Somehow, he always had the answer.

Varric accused him of being a veritable know-it-all, like the Champion of Kirkwall he'd swoop in and tell you everything you didn't know you needed to know about a situation. Cullen smirked a little at the thought. Above him, Adaar asked, "You ever regret it?" Cullen looked up. "Joining the Inquisition?" he clarified. "Leaving your old life behind?"

"No," he shook his head. "I don't regret the decision I made."

And he realized that was true. He didn't regret a thing. When he thought about the work they were doing, all they had accomplished so far, and how much was changing right before their eyes, Cullen couldn't bring himself to regret the direction his life had went. It was what kept him focused, kept him grounded. They slowly made their way to the pier that overlooked the lake as they talked, steps almost but not quite in sync as their length of strides were different. Adaar slowed to the pace of a snail so that Cullen could keep up with him though.

"Do _you_ regret it?" Cullen asked. Adaar shrugged.

"I didn't have much of a choice," he reminded.

"Well, I understand that, but...well, I just meant do you miss it? Your old life? Do wish another had been chosen as Herald instead?"

Adaar thought about that. "Not really," he said. "I've met some interesting people." He glanced at Cullen. "Shokrakar is pissed to all end though. I was one of her best. She's losing money without me. But she understands I'm needed here."

He held up his left hand to inspect the mark in his palm. None of them ever realized just how much they needed him until after Redcliffe. But just knowing how terrible it would've been without him, that the Inquisition would fail without him, was enough to eradicate any lingering doubts.

Cullen sighed. He was far enough away from the village that he no longer heard the hum and drum of the Lyrium in its crates, and it was a blissful reprieve from the sound, standing next to Adaar. The coil in his chest loosened, and all those nagging thoughts finally ceased, for the time being. _Just one more night_ , he reminded himself. _One more night and then its over. We seal the Breach, and move on with our lives. Figure out the future of the mages, the Inquisition, deal with the Chantry. Deal with the Templars._

_Just one more night and I'm free._

Across from him, Adaar leaned against a post and eyed him intrinsically. Without the lull of Lyrium to distract him, he was hyper-aware of Adaar's presence.

Maker, he was attractive.

That familiar flip in his stomach surfaced again, and a blush crept over him.

 _Perhaps, when this is over, I can figure this out too,_ he thought.

"So, do Templars take vows of chastity?" Adaar asked, changing the subject, and Cullen blinked.

"What? Uh, no?" he rubbed the back of his neck.

"What about _former_ Templars?" Adaar asked, grinning mischievously, and Cullen's blush deepened in color.

"Why do you ask?"

Adaar shrugged. "Curious," he said. "It would explain a lot about you."

"What do you mean?"

Adaar chuckled. "It would make sense, is all I'm saying. Because you blush like a virgin, Commander," he said.

Cullen scowled. "That's highly inappropriate, Herald," he reminded.

But inside he smiled. Adaar did have a way with lightening the mood. And at least he was no longer thinking about Lyrium.

Instead, his thoughts went to another subject he'd been unable to avoid.

His growing attraction to Adaar.

**Author's Note:**

> So do I skip straight to Skyhold, or continue torturing them a bit longer?
> 
> How soon is too soon?


End file.
